She Keeps Me Warm
by EZDai
Summary: YO, SPOILERS FOR RWBY VOLUME 3 ARE PRESENT! The memory of who Yang once was dances around her, mocking her. How long can someone take that? In her case, not long. And, once she's finally decided to leave her room again, once she's left home again, where is she going to go?
1. The Memory of Me

"Hey, how are you-"

"Dad, I already told you, leave me alone." The words spill out of my mouth, sounding less friendly than any word I've ever sent his way before. I know he means well, standing there with his kind, dumb face smiling over an obvious grimace. Instantly, I wonder if I'll ever be so mean that he'll hate me so much that he'll never come to check on me again. It's not like I want him to hate me, but I do want him to leave me alone.

"Just wanted to make sure you were o-"

"Do I look okay?" I can't tell what emotions are riding my vocal chords. I'm sure Dad can't either. I feel a lot of things inside of me; Angry, bitter, some more anger, maybe a hint of sadness. Lonely isn't one, and it seems as though Dad is hellbent on keeping it that way.

"No." I blink at him, only one or twenty times. Dad being Dad, I wasn't expecting any honesty, let alone bluntness. His eyes aren't hard, like he's mad, but more… I don't know, honestly. It's something of a mixture of trying to be tough and trying to be over-protective. As much as I wish the conversation would end, I can tell that it's not going to.

"..." There's something I want to say to him. Only, it's hidden from me. That sounds absurd, probably because it is, but every time I try and think of what it is, it dips back down out of my awareness of it, hiding from me. The silence between us, thick enough to try and slice through it with a butter knife, hangs in the air. I stare at him, he stares at me, biting half of his bottom lip like he's considering just walking out of the room. I wish he would.

"Yang, I- Don't interupt me, please." He must have seen my mouth opening; I'd been about to tell him how many different ways, in great detail, he could shove his advice or whatever he was about to lay on me. My staring continues, though his breaks so he doesn't have to stare at me staring at him. I don't blame him, much. "I don't know a lot of things." I have to blink to hide the fact that I roll my eyes at him. "But I do know that you are not you right now."

"Hard to be me, right now... I have two arms."

"Yang, I asked you not to interrupt me. I have a point, here."

"Okay."

"It's been weeks since the Battle, okay? I told Ruby, when she woke up, not to expect much of you. You needed time to adjust, time to get used to it." I can't stop myself from squinting at him, part of me in disbelief that he would have told her anything like that. "But, that was weeks ago. Weeks. You rarely get up, rarely get out of bed for anything but to go to the bathroom and grab food…" I brace myself for what he's about to say; He's got that look on his face that tells me he expects me to get pissed. "You don't seem to want to adjust, you seem like you're waiting for your arm to grow back or something. It's not going to happen. What you're doing in here isn't adjusting to what's different, you're just... Hiding yourself from it. That won't get you anywhere."

He was right.

I am pissed.

I was thirsty for a moment, thirsty to kick his ass for saying anything like that, but then someone pours a couple thousand bottles of water down my throat. Even in my anger, I wouldn't have been able to do anything. I'm right handed, and my right hand is missing. I could throw a messy, unbalanced left at him, but it wouldn't do much. He'd probably catch it and knock me on my ass right away; I have no balance, and I can't get to the bathroom without nearly cracking my head on the wall.

"I can barely get me into the hall, Dad." My blood should be boiling as I spit the sentence at him, but instead it's nearly ice cold. I have to hang my head as he comes over, plopping himself down on his bed. For a moment, I'm a bit self-conscious. He's dressed the same as always, the same great hair as always, the same great outfit. My Dad is ready to fight anything. I'm not ready to try and swat at a fly.

"I know, sweetie." Two things about the sentence bother me. First and foremost, he's not surprised, meaning he's been watching me fail and fall and try to get up and fail and falter and only ever manage to get up because I pushed my shoulders into the wall. And secondly, I'm not nearly as angry as I should be at him, calling me sweetie. Ruby is sweetie, and honey, and cutie, and everything else. I am Yang.

Except, I'm not. I don't want to think on it, too much, don't want to dwell on who I should be and end up at who I am. But Dad's just as uncomfortable talking about this as I am, and neither of us is too pulsed to talk about anything at the moment. His hand finds my knee under the blankets, rubbing it softly. His look is full of sympathy, but I can't help but shake the feeling it's for someone else. The memory of me.

The memory who's 5 feet and 8 inches tall, with long, clean, shampooed, and although it might not be the straightest or the least tangled, pretty, blonde hair. The memory who is 5'8" but seems like she's a thousand feet tall because her back is straight, her chin is up, and her eyes are ready for any fight. The memory whose lilac eyes contrast her pale skin to look like a total badass. The memory of me; A crop top with a tan vest, midriff shown off, and the bottom half of three different outfits all rolled into one. The memory wears a pair of sweet-ass boots that Uncle Qrow gave her. The memory of me smiles. The memory of me has two arms.

I'm not her. I have dirty blonde hair, that hasn't been washed in weeks because I can't make it into the bathroom and I won't let dad help me. My skin is still pale, but it's got dirt or dust or whichever on every inch of it. I'm not 5'8", I'm smaller than Ruby at this point and my back hasn't been straight since my sister showed herself to be more a grown-up than I am. I haven't looked to my right in a long time, I don't want to. I know what's there, and it isn't my arm. My eyes won't let my mouth smile, even if sometimes I try and force it in order to feel better; I'd heard that was some kind of mental trick you could try, from one of my friends. Well, my memory's friends.

Dad still hasn't spoken. Maybe he realizes what I'm doing inside my own head, and maybe he doesn't. If I tell myself I don't care what he thinks, if I say it to myself enough times, will I ever believe me? It takes a hard swallow and some lying to myself, but yes, I decide, if I think it enough I'll eventually believe it.

I don't know how much time passes between the last sentence flying into the air and when dad inhales, sharply, but I do know that I was starting to get sick of it. "Sweetie," he says, his voice soft and careful, like Ruby, or Weiss, or Blake, who would all still probably have their arms in my situation, and do, "I'm not asking this because I want you to get mad at me, or anything like that. I'm asking because I want you to think about it."

It's going to be about the arm, of course. He wants me to think about my missing arm. It'll help her get through this, he thinks. I wish he were right. "Okay." I still say, even though I'd rather throw him through a window than listen to his next sentence. I know that before he even says it, because it's just too obvious what he's going to ask.

"Do you ever feel it?" I know what he means, I know exactly what he's asking me, but I still want to ignore it, and it's a pretty vague question. Maybe I can scare him off if I'm enough of a bastard about it.

"What, having my arm slashed off?" The sentence barely makes it out of my throat, and I almost choke on the question mark as it is. Dad saw the tactic coming, obviously, because even though he grimaces, he doesn't leave me be. He presses on.

"No, I, eh… Like a phantom limb, or something? Do you ever go to scratch your cheek and feel like you're raising your hand and scratching at it?" The sudden urge to headbutt him almost takes over, but I close my eyes, count to twenty, and just manage to only reach up and punch his arm. It didn't hurt him, not physically, but I just shrug that off.

"No, Dad… Please, leave me alone." 

I should feel like I've won once he's left.

The room is quiet, like it should be when it has only one person in it. It's nice, it's calming. I can't sleep, but I am subdued. The curtains of the window at the end of my bed, back to the world of my memory are wide open. I manage to get out of bed, and slide the curtains back down on either side, bathing my room is sweet darkness. Climbing back into bed is a bit difficult, but I do manage it. The darkness feels nicer, but, still, I don't feel like sleeping.


	2. Walking Forward

The window is opened in the morning. Not just the shades that I let down, though those are up, too. The window is wide open, and the chilly Patch breeze floating in makes the room slightly uncomfortable. I've got my blankets wrapped around me, the blanket tucked up under my feet. It's easier to lay on my right side, these days, so I roll onto it from where I'd slept on my back. The ceiling isn't all that interesting, but I don't want to sit up, yet. It's just a few long, long boards somehow stuck together, and even though the wall is the same, I can't see any windows like this.

The window is open. Not only is my room chilly and cold, not to mention empty, but it feels as though the world is. I can't hear Dad in the kitchen like I normally can, nor can I hear Ruby in her room. Of course, Ruby isn't here, in Patch, she's off on her way to a fight… That I can't help her in. If I tried to help her, I would get in the way, and get Ruby hurt. That wouldn't be fair, at all, no. So, I'll stay here, and dream about whatever.

The window shouldn't be open, but it is. I didn't dream last night, though. I haven't in awhile, of course; They'd be filled by that same memory of who I used to be, and that'd only make me way more sad and upset than I already am. So, I stare instead at my wall, ignoring the ceiling. And the window. The widow to the world of my memory. That's not my world, my world is my room, the four walls surrounding me, that's all it has to ever be.

I want to close that fucking window. I still don't hear Dad. Where would he be right now if all of the madness that's happened simply hadn't? Probably at Signal, teaching a bunch of morons what it means to be a warrior, without teaching them what it's like. I try to scratch my nose, forgetting for a moment. Then, I do, with my left hand, scratch at the itch on my nose. The breeze coming in through the window has one side effect that I hadn't thought of, and in fact that I kind of hate. It's blowing in, capturing up the smell from not showering for basically ever, and shoving it in my face.

Fuck that window. I want to punch it open and slam it shut all at the same time. I can't help but feel disgusted with myself, now. Sitting here, basically in my own filth. It's gross. I shove the covers off, and my feet find the hardwood, chilly, and unforgivingly so. Ruby had the right idea, getting herself some slippers for the cooler months of the year. It is Winter, after all, and I wonder why that window is open at all, but after I shut it and grab a shower or whatever, it won't matter. It takes me a second or two to get the first half in place and to latch it shut, but I manage, just as I do with the second half a few moments after that. When I sigh, a burst of mist leaves my mouth. Chilly, but not for too much longer.

Showering is… Difficult. I don't even mean, like, showering is difficult because of the missing hand. Showering is just difficult. My hair is annoyed at me in a multitude of different ways, several ways of which involve trying to rip itself out of my head. Not to mention, getting the bandage thing off is hard enough. I'm careful not to get any soap or shampoo into the wound, even though it looks to be mostly healed… A stump. My missing hand. At least I don't have to worry about the second half of Ember Celica anymore, even though someone, ugh, picked it up and made sure it made it home with me, well, I only have to keep track of one now, if I ever fight anything again.

Towelling off is another difficult thing, as it turns out I'm 5 feet and 8 inches worth of hard to reach places. Whenever I think I'm sure I've dried every part of my body, though, some water slips out of my hair, and gets some other part of me wet. All in all, I think it takes something like an hour and half to shower and dry off. The water is cold by the time I finish, but the bathroom is steamy enough to warm me up once I turn off said water. At least I feel cleaner. I'm not convinced Dad is still doing whatever Dad thing he's doing, so I have to lean into the hall with my foot hooked on the inside of the door, out to the linen closet in the hallway. Pull that open, grab another towel, splash more water on the floor. It's a blast.

So is putting my hair in a towel. I try doing that, repeatedly, for a long, long time. Eventually, I decide that hair dryers are really the only way to go. Even that's a pain in the ass, though, because half of my head is actually a long ways away from the left half of my body. Like everything in life, though, I fix it. While I'm doing that, though, I have to spend a long time staring at myself in the mirror. And, again, I find the memory of me staring me in the face. Her smile, her much more well-kempt hair, her much happier personality. A memory that fades away as I slowly comb out my hair. Just a memory.

I don't remember what brings Blake into my mind, but suddenly she's there, staring back at me from the mirror. Of course, then, she's not. Then, it's her back, running away from me. Then, she's hobbling, holding onto her side where she'd just finished being patched up, instantly running away from me as she soon as she's able to. Run, run, run away! I yell at her in my mind, scream, really. Like the window earlier, I want to punch the mirror, and I even try to, balancing myself with my left hand on the counter top. I leave the bathroom ten minutes later, my cheeks a bit wetter than the rest of me, and the window unsmashed.

For reasons of not being a particularly filthy ape, today, I don't want to put on the clothes that I was wearing in bed. At the same time, I won't put on her clothes either. Shorts in the winter would be murdering myself, anyway. There's not much extra in any of the drawers, most of it is her clothes, not mine. I settle, and truly do settle because there's nothing better, on an orange, cropped tank top, that bears some of my stomach. Shorts are murder, I tell myself, but a bit of tummy won't kill anyone. Might distract someone if I come across them in a fighting mood. I don't remember when I decided to do it.

I throw, really rip a few things out of the drawer and just put on what lands on the bed. A pair of black boy shorts, under some dark grey jeans. I almost stop myself entirely. There are a few things I stitched on them, thinking to make them my symbols, I guess. All huntresses have symbols, I told myself. One is a pretty cute bumblebee, just above the right knee. The other, a star inside of a white circle, inside of this red hanging flag. I was gonna be a star. Or, well, a bumblebee. At this point, I can only ever be half of the star I might have been, or half of a bumblebee. Even before retrospective kicks in, it's pretty silly.

Still, I need pants. And they're the best looking, best fitting ones that I've found so far. So, I slide them on. They don't fit the best, showing off the hem of my underwear, but I can't be assed to put on the only belt I have- Her's. I decide on some nice, white socks, too. They're pretty neat, warm and cozy, too. I try to wrap my arm, and predictively find myself having to put another thing on the list of things I can't do in my state. Yay. I have to consider not going downstairs, lest I fatally discover that going down steps is yet another thing I can't do without nearly killing myself.

The decision does get made, for me. Dad calls my name. I hadn't heard him anywhere in the house, but it's fairly reasonable to assume he heard me in the shower. Trudging slowly, I make my way down stairs. Partly, the trudge is out of necessity; Too fast, I might trip and end up killing myself. Mostly, though, I just feel like what I'm doing is wrong. Not going downstairs, but what comes after.

"So, you're leaving, too, then?" His bluntness almost stops me in my tracks, more than just how right he is. I have to nod, because saying it might be too painful. "Figures. I should probably tell you that you're not in the right mindset to wander around in the world on your own. I should probably tell you that you should wait another week for the snow to start melting. I should probably tell you to grab a coat- Well, actually, I will do that. But, there are a lot of thing I should tell you, Yang."

"What's your point, Dad?" I grunt, because I'm trying not to laugh at his absurd sameness at a time like now. It's so normal-Dad, and so familiar. I want to laugh. But I don't want to, either. In a way, it would feel wrong to laugh.

"I'm just going to tell you that I love you, Yang. And that I'm proud of you." I take a snapshot of him, as he comes for a hug. He's wearing a simple pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and an apron. He's ready for a day, alone, at home, and I'm ready to go anywhere, and fight something. I savor his hug, really let myself sink into it. I'm reminded of the hug I gave him before I left him the last time, and even though that one was tighter, this one means more. "I think your mom would be, too." I don't care to let myself think of her too much, at the moment. Who knows what thinking of finding her and talking to her would drive me to do; I'm already leaving, isn't that enough for right now?

"Before I go, can you help me with a bandage for this? I know, it's pretty good so far, but I want to make sure." Of course, being Dad, he agrees, running upstairs for a fresh bandage, and running back down to help me dress it up, as he put it. Then, he launches into a bunch of questions about a bunch of plans that he thinks I've made. I lie to him about every second of it. I ask him if he'll help me pack a bag. Again, of course, he agrees. I think if I asked him to come with, he might agree, but only because he's my Dad. I don't think it has anything to do with my arm.

The packing gets done by mid-day, and he asks again about my plans. For, like, the seventieth time; That should have told me that something was up, but I blundered into it. Guess that made me feel like the memory of me more than anything. "Where are you going, again?"

"To find out where Ruby went."

"... But, I know where Ruby went."

"I don't."

"I can tell you."

"Maybe her plans changed?"

"Maybe your plans changed? Earlier, you were going to try and help her, and now you just want to find her."

"... I couldn't help her if I did try and find her, Dad."

"So, you're not going to look for her."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe, what?"

"What do you mean, 'Maybe, what,' Dad?"

"I'm just asking what you mean by maybe, Yang."

"... I, duh… I don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"I… Don't know what I'm doing. I don't have any plans, I'm just gonna… Go."

"Go where?"

"Uuuuuuuugh… Nowhere, somewhere, everywhere! I'm just going to walk out the door, and go!"

"Ah."

"Ah?!"

"Well, I kinda figured."

"You figured?"

"Hm… Yup. I believe that's what I said."

"I believes that's what a jerk would say."

He laughed at me. I forgot myself, and got pissed off. I mean, rightfully so! We were having an honest, expressive argument conversation, and he just laughed at me! I didn't realize until he hugged me that I was actually mad at him, but… I don't know, I liked the feeling, that anger that I held for him, even if it was incredibly brief anger. I hugged him back, tightly, my anger flushing out for what I have to assume was some upset love.

"Yang… I want you to be safe, okay?"

"I… I will be, Dad, I promise."

"I... " He wanted to say more. Maybe the news was covering something I hadn't heard about, other than the explosive increase in Grimm in the area. Of course, I couldn't know, because he wouldn't tell me, if that were what was going on. "I want you to come home, okay? I won't make you promise me, or anything like that, because that would be stupid of me, honestly. But I want you to keep that in mind, that I want you to come home. Okay?"

"Of course, Dad… Of course, I'll do my best to make sure I come home. I'll bring Ruby, too, I swear." He didn't necessarily giggle at me, but if he ever did giggle, that was the sound he would have made. It wasn't mocking me, of course, he just had already known that without me saying it, I'd guess. And hearing it probably made him a bit giddy, like it was more of a sacred agreement between us… Or something.

"Alright, well… Have a good time, be home before I'm fifty."

"Yeah…" For a moment, I just stand there, again doing my best to get the image of him engraved into my mind. "I'll… See you as soon as I can, Dad." Stepping away is hard, but as I scoop the bag up over my shoulder, and head for the door, Dad stops me. I should have known, of course, but I'm surprised either way.

"Wait!" He shouts, but not really cause I'm only like 10 feet away. I think he thought of it as a shout, but it was more grunted as opposed shouted.

"What?"

"I forgot to make you put on a jacket, I'd be a terrible father if I just let you walk out into any kind of winter weather. Just because it's late winter doesn't mean you shouldn't have a jacket."

"Daaaaaaad, I kill Grimm for a living."

"They'll kill you if you have a cold, Yang. Don't argue, just give me a second."

I don't argue!

I just groan at him, a lot. Repeatedly.

For the five minutes it takes him to find something I can agree to putting on.

It's not my favorite jacket, but it's simple enough to go with the outfit that I've got on; Just a grey piece, with a poppy collar, and honestly, it doesn't cover up my midriff at all. It's a small price to pay for being fashionable. Dad helps me put it on, and after a few seconds of walking for the door, I have to walk back and ask him to tie off the sleeve, because in those few shorts steps, I decided that I hated, with a burning passion, the way that it flapped at my side.

Once it's tied, I head for the door, for, what, the third or fourth time? Determined for it to be my last, I slip into a pair of shoes by the door. It might have been a struggle to tie them, if they weren't already tied. That doesn't make them easy to slip on, but I manage to get them both on, even the right foot, without needing to ask Dad for help. That, in it's own, obvious way, makes me feel much, much better. My bag is slung over my left shoulder, held in place-ish by my hand. Normally, I would have held it in my right hand, but I'm missing that hand for now, so that's a no-go.

Instead of waving back to Dad, who is at the door, from the treeline, I just nod. If I'd tried waving, I might have dropped my bag, and it's heavy enough as is. So, just a nod. Then, he steps back inside, and I step out of the trees, and into the clearing. Likely the same path that Ruby took when she left. So, here I am, Team RWBY probably not really a thing any more. And I'm still being led around by her. Guess Ozpin had an idea of what he was doing, more than Weiss ever ought to have questioned him for.

Outside the treeline is a weird place. About halfway across the field, to the other half of the forest and presumable safety from any wandering Grimm, I glance over, and think I see one- I think I see a Grimm. Turns out, it was just a cat. A black cat. My vision shifts, back to the house, towards Dad and home, and all I've known for weeks. It leaps to my left, to the forest, to the path Ruby took. Towards my little sister, and familiarity, and the place where the most action is happening. My eyes glide back to that cat, to find it staring at me. Just staring and staring.

I walk towards it, at first. My step is a little off in the snow, but it's just warm enough now that the snow isn't a ton of resistance, just enough to slow me down. I get within ten feet of it, before it turns on hind and bounds off. I don't try to chase it, because I'm not fond of the taste of snow and I'd rather not eat any of it as I try to chase down the cute, if wayward creature. For the hell of it more than anything else, I take a quick look at where it was sitting. All I can say about that is there's only one person I know who wears a bow that color, and so with the cat just within view, still, I make the decision to follow it. That's all there is to it, and it feels right.

No plan, no place to stay when I realize I'm being stupid.

Just an action, and a reaction for me to have a reaction to.

Walking forward.

That's my reaction right now, and I'm sticking to it.


	3. A Cookie and A Cat

Those really great decisions you make, even though few people approve of them? I make a lot of those. With this decision, though, I didn't seek anyone's opinion. Maybe -just an off the cuff thought, unfiltered and uncontrolled, that's me, of course- Maybe I fucking should have! I'm not going to claim that the cold didn't start to bother me. I wouldn't have sat down, broken a bunch of branches and tried so hard to remember Uncle Qrow's lessons on starting a fire if the cold wasn't bothering me.

The fire melts the snow around it, and I worry for a moment that the melted snow is going to somehow put out the fire that I managed to start. No such thing occurs, though, thankfully. I don't relax. I followed that cat for almost three full days. Ate a decent majority of the food I had on hand, got my clothes dirty when the cat stopped for the night and I found a place to nap, and the cat ultimately led me to a river, where it sat down, drank some water, and then bound off back in the direction we'd come from. I made a decision to trust the cat. I should have talked to someone about that, too. Can Blake speak cat? Do cats have a language?

Well, now, here I am, in the middle of the woods, listening to grunts and groaning, and the occasional howl. I have to assume, personally, that those are not the sounds of anyone or anything getting it on; Those have to be Grimm. It's not a smell or an image to behold in your head, when they're around. It's like a tingling at the back of my skull, not quite reaching my neck, warning me, urging me to be ready. My fingers twitch, my bag is at my side. I haven't got it unzipped, though, and I know I really should. The temperatures have sure picked up, but that has nothing to do with the weather.

The night sky is clear; The moon shines down, nice and bright, and the small clearing, much smaller than the one that's near the house, is well illuminated, even after I put the fire out for fear that it will attract the Grimm to me. I didn't think far enough ahead to pack a blanket or anything like that, because I figured I'd have hit an inn or a town by now. So, it's a night of huddling next to the embers of a fire and hoping nothing tries to fuck with me, for me, at least. I'm sure Ruby's enjoying her night, wherever she is. Blake, too. Weiss is in a fucking castle, though her father might be insufferable to her, right now. Nicer beds than what I have, almost certainly.

As I drift off, for some odd reason, I really feel like eating a cookie.

When I wake up, the sun is high in the sky, and the temperature is decent. Due to my lack of being dead, I happily assume that I didn't freeze to death, or get disemboweled in my sleep. Just to be sure, I pinch myself, make sure I'm not having a near-death-dream-experience or something. A quick glance around, not at all thorough or binding, sadly, seems to indicate that there aren't any grimm nearby. That, and a lack of shrieking and similar sounds.

When all appears well enough, I stand up. I don't do it quickly, just in case I catch the eye of a Grimm that I didn't see that happened to be stalking the forest nearby. Well, that's what I tell myself to make up for taking so long to stand. After a few moments of standing, with a lack of hissing and growling, I figure I've stood up just slowly enough. There are a few embers of the fire that have managed to survive through the night, and to ensure they get snuffed out, I toss some leaves on them and stomp on them a bit. If not for my white shoes, I'd have just stomped, period. It wouldn't do to have my current favorite place burn to the ground.

I'm far more alert than I have any right to be. I'd undone the zipper on my bag to grab a small cookie for breakfast, because some dreams are too powerful to overcome, when I heard a twig snap behind me. As awkward as it felt, I was able to slip my wrist into one of the Ember Celica gauntlets, whirling around, chaotically. I manage to find the culprit behind me, guilty of snapping that twig like a brutal sociopath. I'm damned sure that squirrel had a lot of regrets in the moment before I almost punched him. Once the squirrel was well into the woods, and I'd managed to pick my ass up off of the ground, got myself back to a vertical base, you know? That's when I had doubts about which of us was regretting anything. Mostly cause my butt hurt.

I guess I have to also mention that a decent amount of my regret is caused by the Grimm that had definitely seen the encounter, and was stalking his way towards me at that very moment. He's not that big, admittedly, maybe half my size, but build like a brickshithouse, with legs. I don't know exactly what kind of Grimm he is, I'm not all that interested in finding out. I'm not in any condition to fight that fucker. Instead, I slip the gauntlet back into my bag, zip that shit up and throw it over my shoulder like I'm trying to psyche Ruby out in a game of ultimate frisbee.

Then, like a sane human being, I run.

See, now, I feel like some people will chastise me for this, but I already explained the thought process, so fuck you, I ran. Fast, and hard, and sometimes picking myself up off the ground, pulling sticks and splinters out of my bare skin, because I tripped on the snow. The Grimm Brickshithouse didn't ever run, but he was definitely following me. I guess his tiny brain hoped to catch up one of the times I was cleaning grass and snow from my mouth.

I may have been slightly too concerned with running away and trying to keep my balance. I had the misfortune of glancing over my shoulder at the wrong time, and nailed myself with a fence. Now, that's admittedly an odd phrase. To be clear, I ran straight into a fence. Simple, waist high, white fence, which I toppled over, landed on my back, and discovered that clouds are quite pretty early in the morning. With the paved road, though, my back protested my getting up whatsoever. Still, the Grimm Brickshithouse couldn't have been too far behind, so I pulled myself up using the fence for balance.

The town was small, laid out with a fairly large river cutting just through the middle, seemingly sectioning off a financial district from a living one, where I'd found myself in the later, on a paved path next to said river that led to one of, what seemed to be, two paved bridges. I examined it for a moment, and upon seeing four familiar faces, I hopped right back over the fence, and took off in the other direction.

I love all… Well, I love the shortest, dorkiest person there. I truly do. Maybe it's stupid, in fact I'm sure of it, but I felt like if I'd even spoken to her, I'd have never wanted to leave her side again. Isn't it funny? I used to worry that Ruby might get in the way during a fight, and now I'm worried that I'll get in her way. I probably hurt her, hopping back over the fence and leaving like I did.

I wouldn't think on it so much, but I know, I know, I know she saw me. If only for a split second, and if only for long enough to try to wonder if I was the same dirty blonde woman missing an arm who was supposed to be sitting in Patch. I'm sure I was dirtier at that second than any other second in which I had ever existed, although maybe the weeks I hadn't showered whilst I sat in bed were a close second. Sleeping in a small patch of _dirt_ does that to you.

I don't know what the town was called, I didn't stop to think or check or anything silly like that. I didn't want to know. My issue with the matter entirely hinges on a simple fact; I followed that stupid cat -just thinking about it gets my blood boiling for a moment- first parallel to where Ruby had said she was going, and then directly away from it. I shouldn't have even been close enough to see her, at all. So, I set out to make that a very honest reality. I didn't want to be around anyone, so that's what I would do. The woods are nice enough, Grimm or no.

Walking in the forest gets really boring. Like, I'm sure it's kind of obvious. I know my mother approved of walking in the forests, but that was during the spring, summer, and fall. I don't remember a single Sunday-Wood-Walk that we ever went on when there was snow on the ground. I do remember getting up on a Sunday morning in early August, ready to go on a walk with my mother… Only to be told that she'd left. I hope it's not Sunday, now, although I truly don't know. I didn't aim to find out.

The wind blowing by me is still a little chilly, and as I carefully circle around the Grimm Brickshithouse who is too slow to have made half the distance that I made going back and forth, let alone make it to me as I make a 10 foot half-circle around him. I hope, quietly and to myself, that he's the only Grimm in the immediate vicinity, as I make a straight-line in the opposite direction of him. I've heard of people thinking they were going in a straight line in the desert, only to find they'd gone in a circle, and I hope that's not true of forests, too.

With a happily low amount of further Grimm sightings for the day, just one very small Grimm that I was able to kick twenty feet away but didn't feel like killing around noon, I'm about ready to retire for the night. The sun, it's bright and beautiful reds, yellows, and oranges, is hanging just above the tree-line, and the shadows the trees are casting are long and honestly a bit scary. I hear a sudden scream, and before I can think much on it's cause, I'm running towards it, full-gait and not a second thought to it. I quickly find myself hoping another fence into another community, and, thinking that forests are like deserts, nearly hop right back over. The woman that had screamed was screaming because her girlfriend won her a teddy bear at some kind of carnival game.

The town from earlier had had no carnival, though, and no one pays much attention to the dirty, missing-one-arm-blonde who hopped a fence into town. Even a police officer who strolls by does no more than smile at me and wave. I think he says something about, "Welcome to Fay Mil." I don't think he's any odder than the locals, but I don't see any familiar faces, and for some reason, that makes me really quite happy. I had to run him down after a moment, to ask him where the nearest hotel or inn was. Once he'd pointed me in the right direction, I thanked Officer Rice-Off, and head in that direction.

I had money on me, but I quickly found out that it wasn't much. Thanks to Braune, the guy at the front desk of the Fay Mil Inn, I get a small room. One with a shower, which I thoroughly enjoy. After I got cleaned up, and washed my clothes -all of which, you should know, was a massive pain in my ass and my wrist- I went out and bought a couple of small things I hadn't packed.

Honestly, I bought some junk food. I could have bought those instant noodle things, which I could have cooked over a fire or some junk, but I didn't want to. I could have bought some chicken, and cooked it in over a fire. It wouldn't have been nearly as easy as cooking the noodles, but I could have. I just didn't. Most of the junk food is candy, some of it is fruit, but none of it is a proper meal. That's my choice, and I make it. Fairly poorly, I guess.

I didn't pack my Scroll, on purpose. First and foremost, I'm not even sure that it would work. Dad hadn't been able to reach Ruby in ages, and it seemed like no one had tried to call him or me since before the Fall of Beacon. There's a good chance that many people have been trying, in vain, because the Scroll networks are down. Whatever the case being, when I see one, I don't even think about buying it. Afterall, who would I call? Yang is in her castle, Ruby in her village, Blake in… Her shadows, I guess. And I'm in my nothing. I might be staying the night here, but I'm not staying here.

Besides, four days on my own, and I'm calling for help? Very adult thing to do. I strolled back to the Fay Mil Inn after grabbing some kind of soup for dinner. It took the last of my money, but every single bite of savory noodly goodness was damned well worth it. It felt even better once I'd laid down, in my orange shirt and black shorts, looking kinda like the bumblebee on my pants, and the food has settled properly in my tummy. It fall into a wonderful little sleep.

I dreamt of that goddamned cat, though. And, no, not the one that I followed around for three days.


	4. Phoenix

"Hey, there, Phoenix."

"Huh?"

Braune was sitting in the lobby, again, as I walked into it. The clock in my room claimed that it was already late morning, but I'd forgotten about black-out curtains until I left my room and got slammed by the sunlight spilling in through the windows at the front of the building. Braune was probably what many would call extremely over-weight, on top of being bald, and having a pair of glasses on that made him look like a lot like an owl. He looked happy to see me, but I couldn't see very well at the time.

"Oh? Nothing, just a joke."

"Explain it to me?"

"Oh, well, someone dropped some cigar ashes there a few moments ago, and you come out and step over them. Like a phoenix outta the ashes, right?"

I let myself laugh at his joke, but not too much. Just enough to let him know that it didn't bother me, and that I actually kinda liked it. I was still wearing my pajamas, a simple orange tank top and some shorts, clothes I hadn't bothered putting on out in the forrest because I didn't want to try and have to fight for the first time in months in my pjs. Now, though, I felt just comfortable enough to let myself do it.

"So, what can I call you, pretty lady?"

I cast a sidelong glance at him, trying to figure out why the hell he'd said that, but the smile on his face wasn't pervy, or unsettling, so I figured he was just an old-timey fart. "Ya-... Know what? I like that. Go ahead and call me Phoenix. I like that a lot." It was snap-second decision, just a quick, hey that sounds nice. I wasn't going, not for one second, for anything spectacular or world-breaking or anything like that. I wasn't going to start referring to Memory Me as Yang, and current me as Phoenix. Too lazy, and besides, I quite like Memory Me as an idea.

I mean, I see Memory Me everywhere I look. She's in the uneven steps I take, in the people who stare at the tied-off section of my coat, or even Braune, who was staring at the stump that seemed to have finished healing up. She's in the way that I swung at a fucking squirrel, the way that I had issues standing up after I missed. Memory Me is in the way I ran for my life from the Grimm Brickshithouse the other day.

"Well, Phoenix…" It occurred to me suddenly that me might have known me from the Vytal Tournament. After all, I… Did what I did. He's polite enough not to mention it, if he does recognize me. "Are you going to rent that room for another day, or check out soon? One or the other, I'm afraid, that's the policy."

"Oh, ugh… I can't afford to stay another night, sadly. Gotta bow out." I head back into my room, packing up as quickly as I can, and slipping my cute butt into the outfit that I've decided is the new me. It's, honestly, really starting to grow on me. I'd just thrown it on out of, not necessarily necessity, but more out of an antsy feeling of needing to leave. Something I notice on the jacket, as I slip it on again, after I check to ensure the sleeve is still tied, is my little symbol. The heart made of fire, on the left sleeve. I guess it's luck to have been on the arm I'm not missing.

As I start to open the door to bow out of the room, I just hear someone saying something about, "A girl dressed in red, holding a giant scythe? She's incredibly hard to miss, you know?" Well, of course, I know who that is. The issue is, many, many other people do, as well, so I'm far more careful about only opening the door a crack, and peering out. I guess I'm hoping to see Uncle Qrow, or maybe Professor Ozpin, or Dad. The emerald green hair and the mercury dickface I see quickly inspire me, though, to consider my options.

"Seen Weiss Schnee, maybe? Or a pink haired maniac? A guy with green… Actually what are those called, anyway?"

"I've already told you, none of those people are present here, nor have… they been for a few days."

Someone else, I think Emerald now, cuts in, "What'cha looking at, Brauuune?" She whirls, and I suppose his eyes were slipping over to my door. I wonder if he was thinking of mentioning me, or hoping I wouldn't come out. I know she sees the door opened, just a crack, and I hear her start for it. Without thinking, I reach my hand in my bag, slip my wrist into Ember Celica, and pull it out. I'm not ready, I know I'm not, to fire it, but I don't think about that; I ready the stance, and wait for the door to fly open.

And fly open it does. Off it's goddamned hinges, well off the bottom two, hanging on by the third. Emerald is surprised for a moment, to be met with someone aiming a second shot at her face. I don't hold back, and fire right at that annoyingly plucky expression. She smacks into the wall, hard, I suppose making her day almost nearly half as bad as mine. I duck around the hanging door, and fire a quick blast at Mercury. He ducks most of it, but gets clipped in the ear. I don't go for another shot with Braune in the frame, at all, abandoning any pretense of stealth and booking it for the door.

That's... Inaccurate, actually: I book it thru the door, breaking the glass in the middle that's just tall enough and wide enough for me to avoid any serious bodily harm. I mean, I might have fucked up my right arm, if it weren't missing. So, for once, it's an advantage. Mercury has to open the door, but by then I've done that ridiculously neat little roll and in a matter of speaking, have hit the ground running. My balance is off, though, and the area is full of carnival: Crowded. Given where I've ended up, I daren't take a single shot at any goddamned thing.

I have to shove a few people out of the way, as I make my escape. One of my biggest issues, though, is that I don't shove enough people. I can't. I also can't use Ember to shoot myself out of the place, because it's only the one of them. I guess if I could make it fire with my foot, I'd have a chance at it, but… Moot point, at the moment. Mercury is shoving people out of the way left and fucking right, one of them even gets backdropped as he plows through them. Kind of odd, as I hadn't thought of him as the kind to use his arms for anything but slapping himself in the face.

Oh, wait, that's just me, wishing I could do that to him.

Once I'm out of the crowd, I do realize I haven't got long at all. I've got to pick a destination and run for it. There's the forest, across the way and definitely crawling with Grimm. I could retrain myself, to fight with the one arm. There's a river that flows by the town, but if I hoped in that, I could end up almost literally anywhere. Including no where, if it's not as deep as it looks. It's not a chance to take, but I'm running out of time and choices to make.

So, I guess, this is the perfect time for someone to intervene, right? Jaune and the rest of his team could storm into the town oval, as it were... Well, Nora and Ren could storm into the town oval, and take on Mercury, while Jaune followed along. Or Blake could burst out of the forest and kick their asses for me! Ruby could suddenly use her Semblance, appearing out of nowhere to save the-

None of those things happen.

No one comes to save the day.

In fact, something comes to fuck it all up. See, cause it turns out that Grimm Brickshithouse hasn't stopped following me, since I bolted from him yesterday. Once he levels a house on his way into town, everyone starts screaming, and running. Away from him, short and stout and before us is he, I guess they decided they couldn't risk it. You know who else decided he couldn't risk it: Mercury. Thankfully, self preservation is strong in both of us. From what I could tell, Emerald was still KO'd at the Fay Mil Inn, so Mercury was now alone against me (like I'm a threat) and a Grimm. He, like I, decided I was the lesser threat to him, and so he went to attack the Grimm.

I followed close behind, and whether or not Mercury noticed, stayed right on his ass. It was a decent looking ass, but I'd kicked it one too many times for it to be pretty anymore. I digress.

As Mercury lept up to attack the Grimm, I leapt over him. The Grimm, not Mercury, despite their both being monsters. I didn't turn to see if Mercury was as confused as I figured he was, and I didn't turn to see if the Grimm was going to try and follow me. Honestly, I didn't really care. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, back into the woods, as a Phoenix quickly, and quietly ghosted away, left in a little town, sitting between the edge of a forest and a river.

The first day and night back in the woods are calm. I don't cross paths with Mercury or any Grimm again, nor do I get assaulted by Emerald. It's quite, and to be cliche, it's almost too quiet for me to get comfortable enough to sleep, but my head propped on a log in the darkness, I do manage to drift off. I dream, but only briefly, of a woman bursting out of a small pile of ashes, into someone who is better than before.

When I wake up in the morning, I have a blanket. I didn't steal a blanket from the inn, because I'm not a thief. It's a different blanket, too, so I didn't wander back into town in my sleep and force them to give it to me. It's purple, a neat little circle that covers my body when I bend my legs a little. Despite the snow melting about me, and the random blanket that confuses me, I manage to have a nice, calm morning, too.

It's only once the sun has begun to fall from it's position at high noon that shit hits my fan again. Nothing should be an issue for me; I'm Yang Xiao Long. And even as the Grimm Boarbatusk -see, I know what some of them are called!- charges at me, I remember the last time I saw one. Weiss, in class, trying to prove something to herself that no one else could feel. I force myself not to over think it, reaching into my bag and slipping on Ember Celica, and making sure it's on right, nice and tight.

The Boarbatusk charges, as it's want to do. I don't want the fight to take very long, and as it charges, I side-step at the last second and allow it to headbutt the tree right behind me, before I drop to my back, and fire a direct round at it's stomach. Instantly, it's dead, and I'm proud. It's only a Boarbatusk, I know, and it's not much to be proud of when I've fought things so much worse.

But, I will rise out of the ashes; like a Phoenix, I will rise out of my ashes.

It will happen.

Hm… Maybe I should have been a poet.


	5. FIGHT YANG FIGHT

That blanket is still confusing me. Don't be stupid, I know how a blanket works, but the fact that it showed up over-night is bothering me. Who left it there? The trees don't have purple leaves, and even if they did none of them are this fucking huge. The Grimm didn't do it, and wouldn't be able to if they tried, right? Unless I'm sleeping under a massive pile of- No, that's clearly not it. It's just a simple blanket, cotton if I'm guessing the material right.

As much as I'd love to talk to myself about blankets all day, I do have stuff that needs doing. I have two gauntlets; My Ember Celicas. I have two of them, but I don't have two of me, and I'm missing my arm, so one of them will have to get temporarily repurposed. I choose, naturally, the one that goes on my right arm, normally. I thought far enough ahead to bring a small tool kit, mostly meant to perform incredibly simple up-keep tasks to make sure I'm not trying to shoot something only for the casings to fly into my face or get lodged in the chambers. But, I think, it should be just enough to… Edit the gauntlets for use in other ways.

First, I contemplate making it something like a headdress. I could use some of the extra metal to make sure it reaches all around my head, and… After that, the idea falls on it's face. I don't have anywhere to go with it; What, am I going to bend forward every time I want to shoot someone? I'll lean forward, flash them my cleavage, and then knock them on their ass. How does it help me get around? Am I going to head butt them when I don't want to shoot them?

I come up with a much more concrete plan to mold it to my ankle. I think- Well, I hope that my ankle is enough like my wrist to let me modify the gauntlet to it. I'm mostly right, too; The first set of modifying comes to a close, with me sweaty and dirty, after an hour or two of small adjustments. I added a clasp, so I can unlock it like a proper anklet, when I want to take it off.

When I built Ember Celica at Signal, I had my father helping me. Well, not helping me, really, but hinting at which decisions I was thinking of making were good and which were bad. I designed myself something for punching and for shooting, all at once if I wanted to, and all in a circle-ish-thing. The editing is pretty simple.

Once I've got it on, I trigger the mechanism that expands it around my calf, and I'm quite pleased when it fits nicely. I'd worried it might keep function like it did on my arm, and shave some muscle and skin off of me. I had to work on the shooting trigger, but in theory if I just click my ankle in the right way- I shouldn't have tested that, standing on the ground. Stupid, stupid, stupid mistake that sends me flying forward in a front flip. It's about then that I realize how fruitless this whole effort is.

When it was both wrists with shotgun blasts propelling me up, I could… Not fly, but shoot my way to whatever it was that I wanted at that moment, whatever I wanted to accomplish or do. What I've essentially done with Ember Celica, even if it works perfectly, in ensure that I'll always be off balance. If I try to throw a kick, which my kicks have never been particularly strong, the force of the shot will distribute oddly all around me. To be sure of my realization, I try to throw a kick at a tree while taking a shot with that foot, and end up rolling backwards. I try again, to see if the effect is the same; And it's not. Essentially, that means that the blast won't get spread out evenly, ever. It will always be un-predictable, based on the moment at hand that I don't have time to figure out during a battle, or trying to adjust my stance last second.

It's a solid idea, using Ember Celica on another part of my body, but it's useless, for the moment. I toss the mal-practised gauntlet back into my bag, keeping the other on my left wrist. I need to practise, at least a little bit with this. Getting into my stance is a little weird. Dad always told me that I looked like a boxer when I was getting ready to throw myself into a fight. Maybe the tree that I'm about to attack is thinking the same things; Man, this hot chick about to punch me looks like she's spoiling for a boxing match or something.

I throw my first punch, a left, and break some bark off, my aura protecting my hand from the splintering wood. I direct a hard right at the exact spot, end up twirling, losing my balance, and falling on my ass. Instinct. I'm not fighting the tree, as I get back into form (Weiss would be so proud), I realize. I'm fighting my instinct. My instinct to throw a left low, maybe aim for my opponent's ribs to distract them while I smash their face with a right. In order to fight properly, I need to only use my left arm. Well, maybe a knee strike or two, but primarily my left arm, for now.

I tell myself that my right arm is tied behind my back. Roman has smelted a chain around me that I can't manage to break in it's new, hardened form, and I'm fighting with only my left arm. I aim a low left to the tree's bark, chipping at it a little bit, before I lean back up to throw a punch into the spot from before. It feels slow, it feels meandering and lazy, it feels like a squirrel could throw an acorn at my head in the time it takes for me to get back up to a base; Probably because one does, but I ignore him. I'm not moving enough, there's not enough momentum to my action. I can throw a low left and cock a high right at the same time, but I can't do that with only my left hand.

I try. I try over and over again to make the action feel faster, but it never does. Duck under an imaginary strike; Throw a left, lean back up to my base, and then throw a left again. I lose track and count of how many times I do it. I have to fix it, make it faster, but I don't have Ruby's semblance. I'm not as out of shape as I'd thought I'd be, the encounter with the Grimm proved that to me. I just have to make myself stronger and faster than I used to be. I do the same one-two punch countless times, until I'm sweating like a rain-shower, and I can barely make myself stand.

I move back, about ten feet, to where my little campsite is, and sit down again. There are no Grimm in the area, I can feel that, but I'm curious as to why none of them bothered me. I must have been training, punching the tree hard enough to leave it angled from where it had started, for hours. Loud, boisterous, headlong training and not one Grimm wandering by was attracted to it. Maybe they just don't think I'm enough of a challenge any more. Nah, that's a stupid thought; Grimm don't need or want a challenge. They need and want murder and death and fear and…

Anger.

That's usually what's attracted Grimm to me the most. That's even what Dad warned me against when I was in his class at Signal. Everyone has some reason, for the most part, that Grimm are attracted to them as Hunters and Huntresses. Some are monrose, as he put it, some are afraid of every little shadow, and some, like me, are just angry at everything. It was odd to hear him say that about me; I'm not angry at a lot of stuff, and even less so way back when. It didn't have to be strong anger, he advised like a great teacher, any anger at anything can call a grimm. My anger happens to be quickly created and long-lasting, as well as strong.

Those were all true. Of the memory of me. With who I am today, and now, it's not nearly as true. Shouldn't they be drawn to my bitterness? Or to my sadness? Something? Anything? Nothing? Are Grimm drawn to the nothingness in someone's heart? Is that a thing? I don't know enough to answer that question, sadly. Maybe I never will. But, the sun is setting on another day, and I'm exhausted. I grab a small snack out of my bag, munch for a short while, and do some stargazing to use up a little of the snack's pointless energy. Feeling a bit better about myself in general, covered in sweat, yes, but also in a blanket and cool air, I let my eyes slide shut, and once again, drift into a nice little sleep.

It's the roar that keys me off, even in my sleep. One moment, I've got kitten's dancing all around me, black with hazel eyes and lilac bows on their heads, and the next I'm on my feet, squinting thru blurry eyes at my surroundings. I am terrified of what my eyes land on. This one, this Grimm is tall, and plated. Do I think I can take him? Maybe. I'm tired, I haven't eaten well, and I've neglected to drink proper amounts of water. So, definitely maybe. He's almost twice my height, skeleton-like plates over the normal black fur, and those typically creepy deep red tears that all Grimm have on them.

He looks calm. That's the first thing I notice about him. He's not a Beowolf, screaming his head off in absolute rage. Not many grim look calm, and I worry that I'm dealing with a goliath-like Grimm, here. If not for what seems to be a top-heavy upper half, he might be able to stand on his back legs instead of kind of lumbering around on his gigantic upper arms. He's huge. Absolutely huge. But not that angry, until I duck back down to grab Ember Celica. Then, he roars. I try to cover my ears at it. It's terrible and loud, and he bears some massive fangs that aren't immediately evident if you don't pay close attention. But, I can only cover one properly, shoving my right ear against my right shoulder, trying to keep my eyes opened and focused.

Him, roaring, is so fucking scary. I want to close my eyes and hope he's not going to hurt me. I think he's realized I'm alone, with no one to fend for me. I'm cold, tired, alone, and weak... Except, I'm not. My name is not weak. My name is not armless, my name is not helpless. My name is not cold or tired, or alone. My name is not scared.

My fucking name is Yang Xiao Long, and I'm a goddamned huntress. I'm a phoenix.

I lean down, and scoop up my bag, rolling out of his way just fast enough to avoid him as he launches himself at me. My name is Yang, and it's time for me to find out whether or not I'm a challenge any more. I'm terrified of the answer, which is far more likely to be no than yes. I'm Yang, but I have only half of my fighting arsenal. I'm messy, sloppy, untrained, and going up against something I've never fought before. I don't even know it's name. I don't know his weaknesses or his tactics. I'm in for a fight, and one hell of one, I think.

I. Will. Win.


	6. The Beringel

The Memory of Me loves fighting. The memory of me would just launch into the fight, not a single fuck given, and figure it out as the fight progresses. She wouldn't die a few moments into the fight, because the beast caught her one arm in a trap, leaving her no way to defend herself as he slams her into the ground over and over again. That wouldn't have even been a possibility, not for her. And, yet, I'm ducking out of the fight, into the woods, running and hiding from him. I'm acting far less like me, and far more like Blake might in a fight like this. Conceal myself, and observe.

For her, the fight might have already been over, as I duck under one branch and side-step a smack to the face from another, keeping big ugly in my view. Out in the opening that he's creating out of my homey little campsite, I'd already be dead. For the memory of me, she'd have caught him with a vicious right as he leapt at her, right back at the campsite. I shake my head, around the same time I almost run into a tree. I'm not her, I'm me. I'm not the Memory of Yang, who is 5'8" but is 1000 feet tall because her back is straight and her chin is up and her eyes are raring and ready for a fight.

I'm just me. Just Yang. Just 5 feet and 8 inches tall. Just some plain, dirty blonde hair. Just some filthy, pale skin. Just some girl, out of her depth. Just some girl, missing an arm, staring certain death in the face. Just some person who thinks she can be better than she was meant to be, but is probably about to end up dead and broken. I am just me. My back isn't straight, but then again neither am I, hunched over and trying to avoid him for just a little while longer. It's not quiet enough for the snow crunching under my shoes to give away where I am.

He's not got the best sight, that much is obvious. His head swings wildly, side-to-side, trying to find me. That's probably why he so eagerly destroyed the trees in his vicinity. I'm dealing with something old, something who knows what counts as dangerous to him. He's not me, he doesn't leap at things as soon as he sees them without a plan in his brain. I can see his hand wrapped around a fairly large tree, his eyes still scanning slowly, side to side, as his head swivels back and forth.

The Grimm catches sight of me again, and before I can do much he straight-up rips the tree out of the ground, sending it hurtling straight at me. Trees crack and crunch, breaking all around me as I roll forward just enough to miss becoming a Yang-cake. Puns mean I'm doing better, right? I know I have to land a strike, just one solid enough to slow him down, make him realize I'm a threat, give me more time to watch him fight… Me. It's short-sighted, but that's why I like it so much. For a moment, as I drop my bag and launch myself out of the tree-line and into the Grimm-made clearing there in the forest, I am, just for that flying moment, the Memory of Me.

The Grimm catches my fist. I was never a strong left striker, and I'm a bit slower now than I used to be. For a moment, I was the memory of me, and now I'm, once more, just me. His hand engulfs mine and Ember Celica, and half of my arm to boot. He lets loose a long, deafening roar right in my face, and in that moment, a few things flash before my eyes.

My mom; Where is she? Could she, or would she, help if she wanted to? Would she be disappointed in me?

My Dad, and my pseudo-promise to come home.

Beacon Academy in ruins, and me with no way to save it.

Weiss, talented and smart and maybe a little bit snooty, forcibly hidden away in her father's castle.

Ruby, cute and innocent and dangerous, wandering around the countryside.

Blake, dark and mysterious and beautiful, doing whatever it is that she's doing right now.

When everyone eventually comes together, the only person there for me will be my memory. None of them will ever know that I was killed out in the forests, so close and yet, so far away. Maybe, sometime in the future, someone will stumble across some fabric of mine, and figure out what's happened. Ruby will have lost another family member, to a Grimm.

Then, I'm me again, being hurtled thru the air. My feet fly up from the force of the air at my back, and my hair flies up over my shoulders, like a phoenix. It's beautiful. I am a phoenix. I really should have at least given a decent shot at being a poet. It only takes a split second to realize that he's thrown me, but it's a split second far too long for me to counter, to land properly, or to think to throw my aura up, properly. I smack straight into a tree, only I'm horizontal and its vertical. I hear something crack, sharp and sickeningly so.

Suddenly, I'm on the ground, staring over at the big giant ape thing. He goes fuzzy, darkening ever so slowly as I lay there. My back hurts, and I don't think I can feel my feet but I can't really tell. In a poetic mood, with the dirt kissing at my cheek, I think that this is the end of my cute, little story.

The story of a girl who wanted adventure, wanted to go about sucking up the adventure that a lifetime as a huntress offers. Never afraid of anything, never to be defeated by some idiotic Grimm. There's my story, twenty seconds from being finished. I don't want to accept it, but can you fight death?


	7. Two Punch Woman

If I have anything to say about it: Fuck yeah.

I smack the ground with a sickening thud, even to my ears.

I see the Grimm, staring at me from across the way, and I get up.

I'm not a hero, I'm not a Huntress. I'm Yang. I'm missing an arm. But, I don't lose. I'm on my feet, and the Grimm has an expression on his face. Is it anger, rage? Some kind of primitive thinking? He stares at me staring at him. I'm able to stand fairly easily, much more easily than I expect. I glance over my shoulder at the tree that nearly killed me, leaving my back much more sore than it has to be. In it is a deep crack, a few inches thick, probably around the spot where I smacked into the poor thing. I turn back to the Grimm, who is still standing on his four big, meaty limbs waiting for something to happen.

I crack my neck, roll my shoulders a little, and start walking towards him. I'm not quite sure if my semblance has been doing anything lately, but I feel better now that I did when I was sprinting towards him. My back is a little bit sore, and my legs are still a little shaky. I feel better, I feel more like me. I feel angry. Upset. This mother-fucking grimm thinks he's going to clobber me with a _tree?_ Well, I beat his tree, and I'm going to beat him. I'm going to win.

He has started lumbering towards me to. I wasn't listening earlier, didn't hear the little hoots he was giving. If he weren't a murderous machine of death, maybe it would have been cute. I'm not here to play maybes, though. His gait is odd, distinct, individual, almost like he's limping. A strategy forms in head, a way of attacking that might let me walk out of this will all of my limbs intact. Well, those that are still there, at least. The way he starts speeding up, picking up speed as he ungainly hulks up across the field. I decide I need to hulk up, too, if I'm going to avoid getting slaughtered.

I keep the plan in my mind as I jog. I have fairly long strides, but not nearly as long as his, and I know he's going to reach me, not the other way around. I hadn't realized how much of the trees he'd ripped down, but now it's far more obvious. I build up to a run before I make it a third of the way across, and so has he, but he's not even a quarter of the way to the opposite end of the destructive opening. Of course, he's not aiming to make it to the other end. I need momentum for the punch I plan and so just as we reach one another, I stop, and pivot on point.

He's in the air, leaping for my head, and I'm doing a ballerina spin, on the heel of my foot, with my left arm extended, pushing it forward. I spin just enough times to end up almost perfectly placed. Not all of my shot lands, that one single punch, but about 80 to 85% of it is absolutely on point. The roar he lets loose as he tumbles to the ground, big hands clutching at his massive quadriceps is, again, deafening, but I don't need my hearing to beat him, I just need focus and sight.

I get a better look at his leg. Where my punch connected is obvious; There's a massive crater, where I probably creamed up bone and muscle, and if Grimm could cry, he probably would be. It's been awhile since I'd actually thrown any of my emotion into a punch, maybe since before the Fall of Beacon, and possibly even before the Vytal Festival. I don't take my guard down, though, I pace myself a ways back, checking for anyone who might try to interfere in our fight. I want him. He's mine to kill.

He still isn't standing. The Grimm is doing his best to stand up, but unlike me, his issue would keep him down. If I had landed that punch on his chin, I wonder, would he be dead already? It looks like I tore through the bone plates on the front, and the muscle underneath. No slice there, no pretty line where his leg just ends. It's almost hanging by a thread. He can't put any weight on it. If I were feeling dramatic, I'd let him live, and expect to fight him down the line. The Disabled Duo of Fucking Each Other Up. I'm not feeling poetic. I'm not feeling anything but murderous.

I feel like a shark, though. I keep walking around him, ready to land a final blow as he does his best to stand. At one point, he lunges at me, but I don't have to panic and leap back, even if I do, because he collapses in a heap right there. He's not calm, cool, or collected, now. He's angry, furious, and in pain. He might even be scared. I'm no psychologist, and if Grimm psychologists exist, then I'd say they need their heads examined. I take my time looking for a place where landing a single punch would mean death.

I imagine he could still stand. If I let him live, he'd adapt quickly, learning to walk on three legs instead of four. Look at me, getting all poetic as I stalk a kill. He and I would be the same, then, except of course we wouldn't. He's a beast, and I'm… A slightly better educated beast, I guess. But I have to kill him, or he'll come back to haunt me. Smart Grimm always do. If I'm wrong and he's not like the Goliaths, if he's just a murderous moron, then he'll learn from this and become something like the Goliaths. He would kill, but always selectively.

What I've done is created a monster on the scale of a goliath. The Grimm is twice my height, but that doesn't stop me from finding the weakness I'm looking for. The side of his head is exposed, uncovered, and burnt raw. The skin, or whatever it is, is softer and there isn't a bone-piece covering it to protect him from the punch I intend to throw. His eyesight is poor, all about facing forward. I don't know the nature of the Phoenix, so maybe I've mis-diagnosed my spirit. Do phoenixes kill things when they don't really have to?

I could let him live, let him come back to haunt me in a predictable way at an unexpected time. Let him wreak havoc on my life, my friends, my family. I plan the strike, carefully, walking around him as he realizes what's about to happen. He's got to know that something is coming, and is going to react to it. I don't know anything about trees, so I hope that this time I hit some flexible ones. I run right for his face, and jump, putting my feet in front of me and aiming for his face. A dropkick, I guess.

His hand comes up, palm cupped, and I worry he's going to catch me. Thankfully, he uses it to catapult me over his shoulder. I'm sure he thinks he's tossing me out like yesterday's trash. I know what I am, though, and I'm not garbage. I see the tree that I'm most likely to hit, and pull a small flip to aim my feet right at it. When I connect, I feel myself stop for a moment, suspended in the air. Has my great and masterful plan already come to a grinding freaking hault?

Fuck that, I'm me.

I quickly aim Ember Celica right between where my feet landed, and as the tree snaps back into place, I fire a shot. I fly forward, all the way across the clearing but at a different enough angle to not fly me right over his head. I flip once more, and my feet connect at a perfect moment. He's looking in the other direction, at the tree that I used to throw myself. I wait for the perfect moment, as the tree starts to ricochet forward; I take a shot at the wood between my feet, and shoot myself forward like a bullet.

There is no grace in the air of death. I'm aimed at the right side of the back of his head. He turns towards the shot I'd fired, just as I flip once more then rotate, so my feet are in front of me and I'm facing the ground. Timing is everything, and if I fuck this up I'm going to splat into a tree and die of my own stupid ambitious shot. My feet are aimed at his head, and I twist at the last second so I'm fly side-ways through the air, my arm flying right towards him. I let the wind push my arm back; At the last second, I fire a shot, pushing myself forward just a little more, and swinging my fist right into the side of his head. No bone plate, soft, and squishy.

It's not pretty, or graceful. I'm not Weiss. It's not stealthy or surprising. I'm not Blake. It's not creative and impressive. I'm not Ruby. It's pretty gory, dastardly surprising, and impressively creative, for me. It's messy, and it's innovative, and it's a confusing mess of where the fuck am I now. My punch plows straight through his head. I'll spare you the gory details of where his brains all landed, and just focus on the sudden deceleration of my left arm. It didn't stop, but it slowed down far more than the rest of me.

I swear, I panicked for a moment. I felt a tug on my left arm, and worried that for the life of me I was about to lose track of another arm. Another thing to have to fix isn't exactly what I need right now. But, I don't so much as pop my shoulder out of place. Thinking my hand is stuck, I fire a shot, pretty much disintegrating his head, and I tumble through the air, my one arm intact. I hit the ground, though, and I'm still rolling. Dirt and snow and even a little bit of blood cover most of my body. Thankfully, the blood is only on my face, the rest is just snow and dirt. Unfortunately, I smack into another tree in order to stop myself from rolling. All the adrenaline in my body flushes out of me, like it'd all welled up in my right arm, and the wound had just burst.

I think I cracked a rib on the tree. A few hours rest and I'll properly know, but if I'd not taken said tree to the right side of my body, it'd probably be my arm aching like that. I look up, long enough to see the big dead ape get surrounded by Beowolves. I'm not in any position to try fighting a pack of those things, and I think they know it. But their eyes all fall on me at once, as I push myself up, half using the tree, to my feet. I think, I hope, that once they see I'm ready to go again, they panic as a pack, and bolt off. I push my back against the tree, and let myself slowly slide down it.

I wonder what the Grimm is called, and if it was wondering if it could beat death, in the moment before my fist connected. Was it pep-talking itself as it ran across the field, in it's final sprint before I blew out it's leg? Did he feel fear for the image of a small blonde creature shooting herself at him? In the moments before my eyes slip shut, I wonder about a lot of things. But, one thing in particular.

Did that blanket smell familiar? And will I be able to find it if I wake up?


	8. With A Purpose

No, I didn't crack a rib. In fact, when I wake up in the morning, I feel fantastic. The corpse of the Grimm I beat the night before is barely a skeleton, making me wonder if something feasted on him while I slept, or if the rest of his body simply melted away. There are still no Grimm about me, anywhere that I can see, which, for the moment, isn't far in front of me.

About five feet in front of me, there's a pile of clothes on a simple tarp. First, it was the blanket, that smelt a lot like something I know pretty well. Now, it's the clothes. In fact, it's my clothes. I spend too much time checking them to make sure I'm certain, before returning to my seat at the tree, but in the end it's the exact pants I'm wearing now, with the same symbols stitched on the left thigh and above the right knee. The same underwear, socks, and shoes. The same cropped shirt and jacket, the right sleeve tied off and the left sleeve with my symbol stitched on. Seven pairs of this outfit.

Well, color me confused, why don't you? It seems to be my color lately. I'm not bothered by any breathing issues, leading me to believe that I cracked approximately none of my ribs. I'm not bothered by the weather; Cloudy and chilly without the sun on my skin. With the sky as bleak as it is, I can't tell exactly what time it is, or how long it's been since I passed out. I don't remember there being a ton of clouds, or even any, during the fight. For all I know, it's been fifteen days that I've been sitting here.

Surprisingly, I'm starving. If the Grimm I'd killed had any meat left, I might have tried to grab some of it to cook. I dropped my bag somewhere on the edge of the clearing, and now I either have to try and figure out where exactly, or starve to death. Only issue is, I don't want to get up again quite so soon. Nothing in my environment is telling me I have to, and I feel exhausted from the fight yesterday. Proud at my cleverness, sure. Exhausted more so, though.

The sky is a bit foreboding, signaling either an oncoming snow-storm or a rancor of rain. I wonder if that carnival I saw the other day had anything to do with spring being so close, but ultimately I don't know. I don't know a lot of things. I don't know where my bag is. I don't know where I am. I don't know where Ruby or Blake are. I don't know what any of my teammates are doing. I don't know if they still are my teammates or if Team RWBY isn't a thing any more. I don't even know if I'm alone, because I'm not the one who has been off getting new clothes made for an outfit I just decided to like.

Eventually, though, I have to stand up. I push my shoulders back, and slowly climb up the tree's bark until I'm standing. I can figure this out without just walking around the clearing, right? I find the tree that cracked my back, and try and figure out where my ape-ish friend had thrown me from. There's a line that's more or less straight, from the tree to his carcass, and I have to assume that he fell where I punched his thigh out. So he would have been running from directly behind where his body lays now. All in all, I find my bag about twenty feet from where I hypothesized it would be.

It has been rummaged through. A squirrel or that damned cat, maybe. Hard to say, but at least the other half of Ember Celica is still in there. I have an idea of exactly what I want to do with it, now. I find the kit of tools, deep in my bag, and the abomination that is the thing I tried to plaster onto my leg. I can't use it right now, but like with the alterations I had tried to make before, it takes time. I sit in the clearing, wishing I had a light of some kind, feeling lonely but not alone.

A few hours later, and I've managed to, more or less, rework the entire thing. Early on, I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to make an attempt at making it look super cool, or if I just wanted something that worked. Circumstances would have demanded that I do the later, but I didn't want my situation to control me so much as I just needed to be driven. So, I went for perfection. Instead of camping out like a bracelet, the second half of Ember Celica is now a small armband, hidden just above my elbow, for a reason. In a pinch, it should _-should-_ be able to trigger into form, surrounding my bicep, and bridging over my elbow to place the shooting mechanism on the bottom of my forearm, but pointed away from my wrist.

Instead of having to jump around on trees to get the effect I want, I should just be able to hit the trigger and fire my arm forward. If I'm lucky, which I probably won't be, all will go fantastically, and I won't ever accidentally shoot myself while I'm going for a shot on a Grimm. It's pretty neat, if I do say so myself. With Ember Celica in place, my lovely punching guns as it were, I slide my jacket back on. I don't feel like a Memory of Myself anymore: Instead, now, I'm just me.

Five foot, 8 inches. Long, messy, dirty blonde hair. Lilac eyes. Filthily pale skin. I'm me. It feels so good. Like, I've fixed my issue with my arm. I don't know, it's certainly hard to explain. But, not nearly as hard to explain as these fucking clothes, and this fucking blanket. As it is, I did happen to find the blanket on my way back from grabbing my bag. Giant tear in it or not, I still have it. It's got more of an earthly smell to it now, but I still recognize the faint smell underneath it. I just don't know what I know it from.

There's not a lot to do. That's the simple fact of it. One of my main goals for this journey was nothing in particular, and I think I've done a whole fuck ton of that. There's little snow left on the ground, spring clearly having come in, and I just don't know what I want to do any more. Nothing I think of sounds appealing; Find Ruby, talk to her. Find more things to fight; Sounds fun enough but I feel as though it lacks purpose. Look at me, lacking purpose! There's someone else I think lacks purpose, too.

I don't know where I'll find Blake, honestly. I've only just realized that the scent on the blanket, hidden under all of the earth, musk, and my sweat, is her perfume. The same can be said of the clean clothing that's been dropped off. Why she would do that, or maybe someone else just happens to own the same perfume and also happen to have some sick crush on me, I don't know, at all. I want to find her and find out, though. I don't care for what happens when my friends seclude themselves, and I don't think they like it when I do it, either.

But, now I have an idea of what I'm doing, here. Well, not here, here, but I think you know what I mean. I'm going to find Blake, and… I don't know, do something. Maybe I can convince her to come back, or I can fix whatever she thinks is wrong, between the two of us. Something has to be wrong, right? She keeps running away from me. Over and over, and over again. So, there's gotta be some issue, right? So, I'll find her, give her a hug or a can of Fancy Tuna, and fix what's wrong between us.

I packed up my little campsite pretty quickly, in the afternoon. It was difficult to shove 7 new outfits into my bag, along with what was left of my already meager supplies, but like with everything that's been thrown at me, goddamnit, I manage. I wish to death that I had my motorcycle on me, so I can go to the nearest town, and clean my shit up. Instead, I have to trudge through the forest like a normal human being. It's terrible.

Terrible as it is, it's still a lot more comfortable now, knowing that I should be able to reasonably defend myself if anything pops up, wanting to kill me. A few times, I think I spot a Grimm, wandering around in the distance, fucking some shit up, but each time when I focus on it, it turns out to be nothing at all. I don't know if I'm imagining something that isn't there, or seeing a creature that happens to be stalking me. Maybe it's Blake, darting around me in the shadows, with a bunch of gifts.

Whatever it is, a figment of my imagination or a creation of my heart, I do my best to ignore it when it keeps popping up. Never once do I feel the presence of a Grimm, or feel threatened. That doesn't mean that I don't have Ember Celica activated under my sleeve. It doesn't bulge to noticeably, but there's really nothing to compare it to, is there? A stump, I suppose. By sunfall, I'm worried I won't pull of my magic explorer shit, I won't find a town. As I was about to sit down, though, a firework shoots up, and bursts overhead.

I'm not high enough to see exactly where it came from, or how the wind affected it as it flew. I don't care. I aim myself in the general direction, and stumble on my way. Long after sunset, the dark of the forest surrounding me and urging me into sleep, I burst out the wood, and find myself among many of my people. What I mean by that, in no specific terms, necessarily, is that I instantly see about three hundred people with long, blonde hair. Some of them are humans, some of them are faunus, but none of them react to the rustling trees. I quickly realize, I'm at a concert.

There's a large stage, and I can instantly guess why everyone here has long, blond hair. The lead vocalist, guitar strung over his shoulder, does too. I'm basically at the combination of a concert and cosplay convention. Only, instead of seeing Ruby and her friends dressing up like famous Hunters and Huntresses, it's a bunch of musical enthusiasts dressed up like some old, 'cool,' guitarist/singer. I couldn't care less.

Security doesn't believe me, as they throw me out of the area, and into town. That's fine; They don't search me, and they don't confiscate anything. They don't speak a bunch, but they both manage to remind me of the Grimm I'd slaughtered; Big, tough, and possibly very dangerous. I don't find myself suddenly standing in a city, thank god. If I'd suddenly found myself in any city, anything with a recognizable name, I'd have fucking left, instantly. I have no place in being anywhere considerably interesting, not yet.

I fantasize about finding Blake here, but quickly realize that it's not her style. I've been in villages, and cities, and towns, but this is somehow a mix of them all. It's all low-lying buildings, most of them no more than one or two stories tall, but the town has a lay-out far more resembling a city. It's spread out, possibly over miles. However, like in any place, it's not hard to find a store.

I walk in, and find a clock that quickly says, 'Hey, Yanger Danger, it's 11 pm, and most people are probably sleeping.' I find the nearest person who looks remotely not half-asleep, even if his eyelids are drooping, and start chatting him up. In retrospect, I should have taken a different approach. Hindsight will always treat me like I'm a bat, though.

"Hiya." A lame start.

"Hello, welcome to Ovel Supermarket, in the town of Ovel."

I blink at him.

"It's 11 pm, you look young, and you are clearly not from here. You were gonna ask, anyway."

"I… Guess… Look, hi, my name is Phoenix, and I'm-"

"I don't care about your sob-story, hobo. What do you want?"

"Hobo-oooooh." I guess I do look pretty fucking homeless in clothes as dirty as these. "Okay, you know what, fair enough, you don't know a Huntress when you see one."

His eyes widen, but the rest of his facial expression doesn't change. "What do you want, then?"

"Well, some money, and directions to a decently priced, not too shitty hotel would be great."

"Unless you intend to do more sweet things than talk, you're not getting any money from me."

The implications are obvious. There's no one else around. I could fall to my knees, undo his buckle, and let's be honest here, I punch him in the face. Once he's on his back, I feel bad for stealing his wallet, but I've got to do something. I'll pay him back, later. Just, right now is not a time for me to be feeling remorseful, okay? I leave him my phone number, with, 'Call for a good time, fucker!' cheekily scrawled under the number.

I stroll back onto the street. It's mostly empty, so late at night. Of course it would be. The streets are paved, and numbered from what I can tell. Avenues, streets, southwest and northeast. It's a bit discombobulating, but I manage a deep breath, and decent smile. I decide that the best course of action, at the moment, is to ask directions from someone who might have a better idea.

The first person I walk up to is clearly a cop. She's tall, dark, and brooding, but not in the same cute way as Blake. She seems mean. I try to start a small conversation with her, more about how the town is doing, about how I'm a tourist and I don't know much about the city, etc. etc. She asks me if I've done something illegal. I turn red. Then, she asks if I'm turn myself into her. When I'm not, she ditches me.

That's fine, that's fair, whatever. I search the streets for the next person who might give me some directions. The next person I find clearly is actually homeless, and after he and I finish our conversation, I'm tempted to leave him some money. He gives me directions to the Ovel City Hotel, and I give him a hug before I take off. I guess I should be happy that my innocent ass didn't get absolutely stabbed, but I hugged him all the same.

It's a misnomer, of course, this isn't a city.

I ask for a nice room, any that's available, and for one person. The clerk, an androgynous, lovely person named Wes, gets me a small room, for about $300 a night. I apologize to the checkout clerk whose lights I knocked out, and whose money I'm using. I hope that the security cameras from the store aren't functioning the greatest, or I'll be getting arrested sooner or later, before I can pay the guy back.

I mean to do something. Not any particular something, I don't think, but I mean to do something before I fall asleep. Instead, once I'm in the room and Wes is headed back down to the lobby, I close the curtains -blackout again!- and fall into bed. It's a full-sized bed, comfy and embracing. I drift off to sleep. A woman with a purpose, and no energy.


End file.
